


I'll Be The Hippocampus

by Trimitive



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Anal Sex, Angst, Blue Blood, Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Conspiracy Theory, Crime Fighting, Deviants, EXTREMELY romantic, Emotional Healing, Eventual Hank Anderson/Connor, Hank teaches Connor what feels are, IKR?, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light BDSM, M/M, Music, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Hank Anderson, Rough Sex, Roughness, Sad, Sex, Sickfic, Soft Love, Sumo is a good boy, Survival Horror, Virus, Zombie Apocalypse, domestic desires, hankcon - Freeform, learning emotions, like super seriously this is more a romance than thriller, listen, mentions of child abuse, monters, much two people overwhelmingly love each other, music runs the show, non-explicit sexual assault mentions, very sad, you guys, you'll probably love this if you ever got turned on by how
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22537423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trimitive/pseuds/Trimitive
Summary: Detroit: 2038 is home to one of the longest running infection zones. Quarantined in Michigan and surviving on helicopter supplies has left the city in dire circumstances. It's every man for themselves, every community as empire; with the creation of super human bred and born with infection, society had finally found a means to an end... that is until those super human tools turn up missing or escaping on their own. Hank must not only find one of these escaped "deviants," but he has to work with it to discover the larger evils at work behind the scenes of the infection.~~~This is ultimately a very sweet/tragic ROMANCE. There's a lot going on besides zombie setting stuff, so you're totally in the clear to read this regardless if you're squeamish to zombies or not since the plot doesn't revolve around that exclusively. This story is more about mutual survival, and love built on that bond. There's a lot of cute chapters and a lot of traumatizing chapters. It's like playing russian roulette.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	I'll Be The Hippocampus

**Author's Note:**

> Yo. I'm back.  
> Here, have a zombie fic I've been writing for a year.  
> This fic deals with a lot of heavy content-- its genre expands on the zombie thriller drama genre. There's a lot going on besides zombies, so you're totally in the clear to read this regardless if you're squeamish to zombies or not since the plot doesn't revolve around that exclusively. This story is more about mutual survival, and love built on that bond.

**September 14** **th** **, 2038 5:16pm**  
  
The music was catching when the old CD skipped in the stereo. At first it was sort of funny, because Connor would pretend he was also “skipping” by tensing his muscles and abruptly stopping the flow of the dance. However, with Connor now draped in Hank's arms so lifelessly, it lost its appeal. Those moments-... those precious seconds Connor had left should have been nothing but absolute perfection, but Hank could only do his best with what he had to work with in those circumstances. 

The sunset's glow draped their bodies in amber as they rocked. The CD skipped again, then the [song](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Oho-q53uiv4) started over. It was getting quieter though. The batteries were probably almost dead. Hank could hear crickets out in the field; strange for the time of year, and a cruel reminder that life was going to continue to go in tomorrow....

  
Hank's arms were hooked under Connor's arm pits and laced by the fingers at the small of Connor's back while the younger man wearily swayed along with Hank's soft back-and-forth. He hummed soothingly into Connor's ear while Connor rested his pale face against Hank's shoulder. He could feel Connor's body growing weaker every minute, and all Hank could do was hold him. 

Life was cruel.   
  
“I'm scared,” Connor finally whispered weakly.  
  
“It'll be okay. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”  
  
“Don't leave me.”  
  
“Wouldn't dream of it, Con....”  
  
“ _Don't leave me._ ”  
  
An echo.  
  
“ _Don't leave me_.”  
  
This is what they did when they started to die. They repeated, like a broken record.  
  
“ _Don't leave me_.”  
  
A subdued sob against the night, Hank's nose pressed into the earthy scent of Connor's hair as he shushed him, swallowing his own grief. 

A repetition of subconscious fears pouring from the mouths of the victims in their last moments. It shook Hank to his humbled soul and clenched a knot tight in his stomach to hear Connor's lament.  
  
“Don't be scared, Con. Don’t be scared of it.”   
  
That's all he could say. Hank could be no more comfort, but still. Holding Connor like this, he squeezed the smaller man tightly to his chest. Time could have stopped, and all Hank could do was be grateful that he had met Connor. Tears streaked his cheeks as he stifled a sob. “I'm so lucky,” he whispered hoarsely knowing he was now whispering to nobody....  
  
“ _Don't leave me.”_  
  
“I am so thankful for this moment,” he stopped swaying, keeping Connor cradled in his arms. “I am so grateful to have loved you.”   
  
  
**September 7** **th** **, 2038 8:46am**  
Hank could hear the collective, weak moaning outside of his window as he opened his eyes. A series of scurrying footsteps, and a stench that crawled up the walls and seeped into the brick. Ironically, this wasn't what woke him up; rather, it was the primal instinct to open one's eyes as the sun hit window and peered through the ripped curtains. He groaned, sitting up in his bed and running his hands down his tired face. His eyes were still heavy, weighted by restlessness. His grey hair sat like a disheveled mop on his head, matching the weighted coat of his St. Bernard that mirrored the man's actions. A yawn, a stretch, and a grunt as they both roused from their beds.  
  
Another day.  
  
 _Yay._  
  
The middle aged man dragged his feet and scratched his hairy stomach under his shirt as he made his way to his tiny bathroom, compartmentalized for various things including a small pot in the tup to boil water and a wash bucket. He emptied his bladder and splashed some water of his face before brushing his teeth. Sticky notes lined his small mirror, one more disruptive than the one before:  
  
 _"Keep Smiling."  
"SHAVING or NOT."  
"I'm not grumpy, I just don't like YOU."  
"Today will be Fabulous."_  
  
Hygiene was mandatory in the complex. Otherwise Hank wouldn't even bother anymore. He wandered back into the little apartment alcove he called home, and shuffled some dry dog food out from under his bed (but not without bitching about his back). He lugged the heavy bag up and poured a generous amount in the bowl for his beast of a dog, who scarfed it down hungrily. “Good Sumo,” he chuckled, giving the St. Bernard a pat on the head and sitting down to click on the television.  
  
Static. Go figure. Sometimes if he was lucky, he could make the morning broadcast but he clearly overslept. Honestly, he didn't even keep a clock anymore, it just stressed him out. Everyone knew he'd make it to his office when he was well and ready to. It's not like he went out either, so he didn't have to worry about when night would fall.  
  
Frankly he wasn't surprised by the mountain of papers stacked on his already cluttered desk. He sighed, staring the piles down as he entered his office and flicked on the lights. He collapsed into his desk chair, letting it spin idly as he swiveled and contemplated throwing the stack out the window instead. Just from looking at the top papers, he could see that the majority were missing persons' files or documents to confirm the collecting and burying of an infected within the complex itself.  
  
The soft glow of his lamp ticked when his door was slammed open, relenting to an angry man not much older than Hank who marched in half shouting already, “Where the fuck have you been?”  
  
“Sleeping.”  
  
“For fuck sakes, Hank!” The man waved his arms before throwing another file on Hank's desk. “We needed to know where this kid is at least nine days ago!”  
  
Hank scoffed. “Nine days? Really?” He spun around in his chair and sighed. “I know where he is then. Dead. He's definitely dead.”  
  
This comment didn't win Hank any brownie points. “Your job,” the man began angrily, “is to find his body, ASAP.”  
  
“Look, Fowler, they're not going to get any more dead. Also, it's not my fault your men can't follow simple directions. If they had even the smallest bit of brain power left, they'd found the body.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Fowler hissed. “Now you listen to me, and you listen well. This isn't just some errand runner, it's-”  
  
“RK800.” Hank sighed. “Yeah. I know.”  
  
“If you know, then why the fuck don't we have that body buried in the ground?”  
  
Hank paused. He pursed his lips looking for the right words. “Because the last time we had to uncover one of Kamski's 'projects,' we ended up burying six more bodies than intended.”  
  
Fowler exhaled through his nose, visibly deflating as all the fight he had left in him sauntered away and was replaced by calculated sympathy. “It'll be worse if we wait-”  
  
“It'll be worse,” Hank interrupted, “if we don't wait for more experienced runners. Dammit, Jeffrey, I already hate those things and I'm not about to send some fucking young kid to his death to find one of them, what do you expect me to do?”  
  
“I hear you,” Fowler whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose, “but we have to come up with something.”  
  
The two men sat in mutual silence for some time. Neither wanted to budge on their position, but they also were willing to come to a compromise if they could just find one...  
Fowler's eyes suddenly lit up.  
  
“No,” Hank started.  
  
“Hear me out.”  
  
“No, I already hate it.”  
  
“Listen,” Fowler snipped his fingers to silence Hank's rebuttals. “What if … you went out?”  
  
Hank blanched, staring Fowler down like a deer in headlights. “Are you fucking kidding me?”  
  
“You were just saying that you didn't want to send some novices out there to get the job done,” Fowler continued earnestly. “Well, don't send a novice. Send a master.”  
  
“I'm _retired_ ,” Hank emphasized. “I'm not even allowed to leave the complex anymore.”  
  
“Nobody else has to know,” Fowler insisted. “I'll keep shit under wraps. It's not like I haven't been doing that for the last few weeks what with all of your bullshit. You owe me.”  
  
Hank groaned. “I don't owe you jack shit, especially not with my life. I'm out of shape, Jeffrey. Those monsters will eat me alive, literally.”  
  
“No, no they won't,” Fowler encouraged. “They'll get one whiff of you and run for the hills.”  
  
 **September 7** **th** **, 2038 11:18am**  
Hank stood at the large, steels doors and chewed at his lip. Fuck this.  
  
A man's voice rang over the intercom in the empty corridor: _Gates opening. Stand by_.  
  
  
“Don't need to tell me twice,” Hank grumbled, steeling himself as the blue stream of electricity surrounding the door faded. With a loud snap of locks unfastening, and the angry groan of the heavy doors opening, Hank was presented with a world he hadn't really seen in several years.  
It didn't get any better, that was for sure.  
  
The sun hit him hard, brightness taking over his vision as he shaded his eyes with his arm to see clearly. The walkways were becoming overgrown with vegetation, and the ruins of old builds piled each other as they collapsed into themselves or their bricks crumbled from their own skeletons.  
  
It was eerie, and very quiet for the time of day. There was a silver lining though;  
There weren't any infected in sight or in ear shot. With a deep breath, Hank took the first step out of the complex he had made in ten years. If he played his cards right, he would still have ten more by sun down.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are my life blood; feel free to even drop a hello. I miss you people. (人´∀｀)．☆．。．:*･°


End file.
